


Embracing Incompleteness

by orphan_account



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Body Horror, Canon Compliant, Food, Gen, also they're not that descriptive, also this is post POF, and it eventually makes him skeptical too, and this is also post FWSA i guess since it came out while i was writing, blood mention, both in remus's scene only, but be warbed, but it's not about it so fear no spoilers from me, but no one is immune to the power of roman, but there are references to it here and there, each scene is Roman+One Character interaction time btw, not directly after it and not about it, not even roman himself, the others are basically skeptical about roman's idea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:00:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26988625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: In which Roman gets sudden creative burst and the others have a thing or two to say about it.This fic is an exploration of the creative process and how it deals with the rest of a person's functions (AKA Roman as Creativity is underutilized somehow and this is me remedying that while stretching out a plot to explore all Roman interactions).
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Deceit | Janus Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Everyone, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Thomas Sanders
Comments: 7
Kudos: 24





	Embracing Incompleteness

**Author's Note:**

> Been following tss for years and I've suddenly gotten the urge to write something for it, it's just very self-indulgent. Also very sorry for some Roman one-liners/nicknames, I just couldn't not put them.  
> Hope y'all enjoy!

It’s a tad silly when Roman thinks about it for too long: how this grand idea of his was brought about by a few cartoons Thomas was watching. Even still, Roman presses forward and into his room to look for things that’ve been plaguing his mind. The thoughts of those shows and their more than stellar characters keep nagging at him. They remind him of days and weeks of endless writing, of years filled with nonstop thought, of stories and adventures once explored. On some days, much like today, he can’t help but wonder what could’ve happened if he and Thomas held onto those adventures.

Now here Roman is: sitting on the floor of his messy abode, with notebooks of different colours and sizes at hand. He finds that going through them is quite the unique experience, to say the least. With his confidence taking a bit of a dive in recent months, he doesn’t make it a tradition to check on past creations. One sentence or drawing is enough to have him recoil at, what he’d usually refer to as, his shortcomings. As he lets himself see more of what the past has to offer, however, the uneasiness in him starts to fade.

“Gosh, we put way too many characters in this one.” Roman notes with a chuckle, after finding the 20th name in what seems to be an almost sixty page story. His fingers trail the fuzzy words in the pages, all while his cheeks begin to ache. The smile he’s carrying hasn’t left him since Thomas’s makeshift books graced his vision; there’s just this warmth he never knew he could receive from them. Grammatical errors, unrealistic dialogue, the fact that they were too many characters—honestly, none of that matters to him. The pages in his hands are the results of his efforts, the results of _their_ efforts; nothing could make Roman reject them.

One matter seems to stick to his mind, however: how the names across the pages lack an attached design. He’s been trying for a while now, but Roman has yet to figure out any of the characters’ appearances. Sure, the names are familiar enough, but not much else is ringing a bell. In order to atone for this heinous crime of his, Roman commits himself to do what he does best: create.

Restarting from the beginning of the stories, he tries to think of a design to fit each character along with their corresponding personality traits. Of course, this can’t be done for every name, seeing that Thomas and Roman were nine with little to zero understanding of how characters worked. That’s why he’s mixing some names with others, essentially making up characters that weren’t there before.

At this point, he’s weaving them out of barely anything. His memory is rarely the most reliable tool he has, he knows this, yet he can’t help but stay put and revel in the creations in his mind. He’s added but a tiny smidge to them, but they’re already developing beyond what he’s hoped for. It’s almost as if he could do something more with them.

With this sudden realization, Roman drops the notes and springs up to his feet. In just a few seconds, his fingers start to tremble. They’re forming the tiniest shudders, weak enough that the vibrations won’t travel to the rest of his body. As insignificant as this realization should be, Roman wants to hold onto it.

He clenches both fists, allowing the sensation to reach his hands. More than any of his other functions, this itch to make something new, to craft a world beyond Thomas’s imagination, is the most familiar to Roman. It’s been a while since ideas for a new project occupied his thoughts, but he could never mistake this feeling. As the shaking continues to move through his body, a smile spreads across his face once more—he needs to talk about this, right this second.

Roman doesn’t wait until a plan appears in his head and rises up to Thomas’s living room. It doesn’t take long for Thomas to notice his presence, especially considering Roman’s been shouting his name out upon arrival.

He looks up from the work on his laptop; the sluggish energy he’s accumulated over hours is replaced by the sheer joy of seeing Roman. Now, Roman doesn’t consider himself the brightest bulb when it comes to understanding others, but the grin on Thomas has him hoping. Maybe the narrative he’s been entertaining somehow reached Thomas—what if that smile means he wants to explore it just as much as Roman does?

The laptop’s forgotten as Thomas hops off of his chair to meet Roman in the middle. None of them start speaking after that, only the sounds of feet shuffling can be heard. Thomas can’t help but sway back and forth while Roman keeps bouncing on the balls of his feet. It seems as if they’re both content with just delighting in the other’s enthusiasm; none of them quite prepared to break the silence—that is, until a squeal escapes Roman, prompting Thomas to find his voice.

“Roman, listen to me. I _need_ more of the bard.”

“Oh, Thomas, I know! But what of the—”

“Yeah, the warlock too… gosh, we really should—”

“Write this down!”

Now that a goal’s been achieved—convincing Thomas to work on the story—a new target is on Roman’s mind. He skips along the length of the room, hurrying towards the table by the kitchen. The laptop on it is scooped up and Roman turns to face his soon-to-be partner in writing.

There’s an abundance of scenarios that cross his mind; the ways Thomas can exploit this idea seem so endless to him. Perhaps it could be the impetus for creating another musical or a new video series—maybe even actually making it into a book. Because there’s so many, _too_ many, different approaches to this, Roman’s all the more excited for what’s to come. He’d flip the laptop over if he weren’t wary of the consequences.

He gushes about these random thoughts to Thomas, looking up at him and awaiting their planning session to commence. “Uh, about that, bud. I kinda sorta need to finish this script today,” Thomas manages to squeak out. Truth be told, he’s just as prepared as Roman is to leave the mundanities of work behind, but he has a schedule to uphold. He’s all too aware, however, of the impatience Roman’s known for, so he doesn’t expect a cooperative response.

“Hmm, you do have a point. Better not to incur Logan’s wrath and all,” Roman says as he saunters off to his regular spot, dropping the laptop on the couch on the way. As Thomas pointed out, cooperation is by no means Roman’s strong suit, so it’s fair to be a tad suspicious of him and the gleam in his eyes, also the smirk that he’s sporting. There’s also the matter of his sudden humming… yeah, no, there’s definitely something up with him.

Thomas crosses his arms, thinking he has the other’s plot figured out. “Uh-huh, sure. You’re just going to keep my thoughts running, Roman.” If he turns out to be wrong, then he’ll learn to give Roman the benefit of the doubt more often. That doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen, though, as he soon finds the prince gasping with a hand to his heart.

“How could you think so little of me, Thomas? I would never disturb you on your quest for composition!” Theatrics are what Roman does best, so it fits that his arms flail around with each word. His exaggerations are a bit of a hindrance to some, but Thomas has a soft spot for them; they do make their conversations a lot more entertaining, after all.

When it’s clear to him that Roman won’t stop shouting out rebuttals to his point, Thomas cuts him off. “May I remind you of the daydream mode incident that happened three,” he emphasizes by holding out that amount of fingers, “literally three minutes before a script reading?”

A pause takes a hold of the room as Roman struggles to find an excuse. It happened one time and, sure, Thomas couldn’t focus in the beginning of the meeting, but Roman believes he should be exempt from this slander. Expressing this sentiment doesn’t do much for him when Thomas quirks an eyebrow, almost daring for Roman to deny the claim.

“Okay, _fine_. No plans for the story will pop up in your head while you’re working.” His pout doesn’t support the statement in any way, but he would never let himself go against what Thomas wants. The frown he’s donning eases up when Thomas thanks him, causing the corners of both their lips to point a bit upwards.

“No problem, Thomas! Brainstorming works best when we’re together, after all,” Roman adds. He has his midriff crossed by his right arm and lifts his left while cupping its hand, striking his signature pose. “I will not say goodbye, but until we meet again soon!” As he proclaims this, Thomas catches the familiar sight of a side sinking out. Roman did accomplish what he came for, so it checks out that he’s leaving him for now. Still… Thomas feels that something’s amiss here.

“Hey, Roman.”

He rises back up at the soft tone. A question within him remains unspoken when Thomas surges forward. Arms wrap themselves around Roman’s shoulders and his chest collides with the other’s. No time is wasted as Roman returns the embrace. His hands squeeze Thomas’s back with as much energy as can he muster—the fear of the hug ending taking a hold of him. “I’m so excited to do this.” A fit of giggles follow his statement to Roman.

To say he’s emotional is more than an understatement, in Roman’s opinion, but he does pride himself in keeping his tears in check—especially in front of Thomas. So, he continues to do just that, even with those words of affirmation clinging onto him. A smile graces his expression for, what feels like, the umpteenth time this day. “I am as well, Thomas.”

*******

The Mind Palace has taken a multitude of forms over the years. It’s seen a strange variety of rooms—ones that were abandoned once another shows up as a replacement. Most of the sides don’t use it outside of proving the others wrong, so any changes to it usually trace back to Roman. Whenever he needs to focus on work, surrounding himself with unfamiliar walls works wonders, which means leaving the sanctity of his room is unfortunately a must at times.

Funnily enough, one of the first rooms Roman made was the throne room of a palace. While his imagination back then could never compete to what it is now, Roman doesn’t alter the room all that much. It still has its marble floor & columns, gold accents on almost every spot and a red-cushioned throne he used to play around with. Right now, however, work is all that’s occupying his mind.

Standing in the middle of the room, with the throne before him, Roman judges the play his two characters are putting on. It hasn’t been that long since he’s talked to Thomas, so there isn’t much he can go off of to have the characters act out scenes. Even so, a nagging thought keeps hanging over his head. A scenario that hasn’t fully developed yet is stuck in his mind and all he wants is to let it out. He isn’t sure where it’d fit in the story nor is he aware of what it should entail; all he knows for certain is the need to implement it. So, he created the bard and warlock to help him through the process.

They’ve been running line after line for almost an hour and Roman still isn’t satisfied. Given that the scene lacks a lot of details, it makes sense that nothing’s clicking. A theme of friendship is a given—maybe even something more—but showcasing the characters’ bond through an argument is important to Roman. To show how their differing ambitions are incapable of breaking what they have, that’s something he wants to be seen. And yet, here he is: contemplating the scene’s removal.

Roman’s hand digs through his hair, massaging his scalp. A wave of his arm has the characters silenced, as if suspended in time. The frustration’s eating away at him, more so than he thought it would when he decided to go into this. Something has to help him figure this out, anything at all would suffice.

When nothing pops up, _again_ , Roman lifts his arm to remove the two before him—at least, that’s what he had in mind, but he freezes.

A set of obnoxious cackles bursts into the room, easily echoing with how large and empty the place is. The volume of the laughter is something Roman’s all too accustomed to and it causes him nothing but grief for what’s to come. “Oh, please, not today…” Roman groans, dragging his hands down his face.

As if on cue, a greyish mass moves past his right and is hurled straight towards the characters, knocking the musician and his oud on the ground and dragging the warlock along with them. The sound of their bodies colliding with the floor has Roman wince, and he retracts even more when he notices the weapon responsible for their fall. “Haha, strike!”

Of course it was Remus, no amount of hoping on Roman’s part could deflect his brother’s madness. Just having Remus stand next to him has Roman on guard, keeping a hand on his hip in the event a sword is required, which will most definitely be the case.

The frilled mess of a side practically skips towards the bodies as he hums along to a tune. In Roman’s humble opinion, Remus isn’t to be trusted in any situation and under any circumstance. Due to this, he believes the other’s going back for his morning star, if only to knock him out along with his creations. Roman squeezes the hand on his hip and pulls slightly, manifesting the hilt of his sword. He won’t allow Remus the chance to beat him.

When Roman glances towards the other to challenge him, he finds that the morning star has yet to be dislodged from the bard’s stomach. What he’s actually greeted with is the characters floating off the ground and Remus with his hands up high. Before he could question the visual, the hums from his brother soon turn into song.

“Left, right, here we go”—Remus moves his hands and the bodies seem to follow his directions—“we’re having a switcheroo!” Incessant giggling spills out of Remus. With a flourish, the arms of both characters are ripped off and they fly towards the other, effectively switching owners.

The characters aren’t equipped with the most accurate anatomy—Roman doesn’t prefer to account for it—so any blood that might pool out of them doesn’t actually appear. That doesn’t lessen the sound of the organs tearing, though. Remus’s singing is, of course, much louder. It’s a detail Roman should be thankful for, if it weren’t for the lyrics.

“Up, down, hope you won’t miss”—Remus’s conducting continues, his feet moving to the rhythm—“your left foot and your shoe!” Contrary to those words, the characters end up swapping their right feet, and the juggling of organs only grows from there.

A scowl has been invading Roman’s features for a while; naturally, it deepens with each passing letter of the song. Despite his clear repulsion for literally everything Remus is doing, Roman’s fingers tap against the sword’s hilt. Curse the lyrics and the dance his brother’s doing to the depths of the underworld, but that melody will persist and prance around Roman’s head for a good while. He’s all too sure of it.

“Oops, I forgot to mention! Your ears and lungs as well!” The puppeteering remains as a constant in this song, so Roman doesn’t bother looking up. He would’ve put an end to this charade already if he wasn’t curious about it. Given the opportunity, Remus would and could easily destroy Roman’s creations without a moment’s hesitation; the same could be said about Roman. For that reason, it’s more than odd that he’s satisfied with just toying with them. Remus only messes with his own handiwork—Roman’s characters should not still be here… something’s just not adding up.

“He’ll have your large intestines,” Remus carries on, his arms outstretched to the ceiling. His manic grin points further up and his eyes close, prepared for a grand finish to the spectacle he’s doing. Shimmying, Remus opens his mouth to belt out the final line, only to be stopped too early.

“Remus.”

His position holds, refusing to turn around: he doesn’t see why he should give Roman the satisfaction of indulging him. What he does do, however, is listen. It is the first time Roman’s confronted him today, after all.

“You’ve been thinking about the story too,” Roman guesses, his voice barely above a whisper, “haven’t you?” He doesn’t know whether or not he wants the answer to be positive. They’ve had shared ideas before—it comes with the job—but it hasn’t happened with something this dear to Roman. So, obviously, there’s hesitation in his actions: his hands itch to reach out to Remus, but he holds his composure. Helping each other, comforting one another, that isn’t their specialty. At the very least, though, Roman gets rid of the sword to show that he’s willing to hear him.

“Of course I have! You’re not the only one who wears the legs in this family.” Remus scoffs at the concern Roman’s displaying. It’s insulting to him, honestly. As if _he’s_ the one who needs help—the reeking desperation from his brother has been stinking up Thomas’s whole head for days now.

“Although I should say…” Remus finally pulls his arms down, chucking the disjointed bodies onto the floor—the _splat_ it creates making Roman’s toes curl. “Your inputs are extremely”—he turns around with a toothy grin, his neck snapping in the process—“boring!”

Roman’s face contorts in disgust, not only because of the bodies on the floor, which he casts away, but to Remus’s claims as well. He does agree to what was said; the thought even occurred to him before his brother’s arrival, but Roman admitting to a fault is a rare event. Since acknowledging his issue to Remus will never happen, he stays silent.

Remus, taking the opportunity immediately, presses the matter even further. “Let me guess what you were trying to do with that scene of yours.” His statement’s followed by shoving his fist in close proximity to Roman, leading the latter to step farther away from him. “Friendship, misunderstanding, a bunch of unnecessary apologies aaand friendship again, for some reason!” Remus pops out a finger for each point.

Getting exposed leaves Roman stumbling on his words, trying to come up with anything to dodge the bullet that’s been shot his way. He pushes the offending appendages away from his person, prompting a round of laughter from Remus. Once again, Roman can’t figure out the words to his defense, only managing foot stomps and huffs. Seeing this as another opportunity in his favour, Remus continues down the point he’s trying to make.

“So the musician guy, the oud dude, the oudist…” He pauses to recall why that last word sounds familiar to him. When he paces around the room as he strokes his chin, Roman opens his mouth to object to everything Remus is doing—his character has a name and it should be used, for goodness’ sake. As is usual, he doesn’t even manage a peep before Remus interrupts with a snap of his fingers.

“Like nudist! Is he regularly in the buff?”

“I swear to let you knock me out again if you would only shut your mouth.”

“Another time! Anyway, so we—”

“ _We?_ ”

“—have the oud guy be a part of a long line of assassins!”

It takes a bit for the information to sink in. Much like most of his responses today, Roman can’t string up a sentence to express how exhausted he is, but he has to say something this time. Looking at Remus’s grin is not helping him in the slightest. How he can be proud of such a senseless suggestion, Roman might never know. “You… some part of you surely realizes he’s a poet and a musician, _not_ a fighter, right?”

“Oh, so his royal heinie admits to being a terrible fighter then?” Rows of white reveal themselves, bit by bit, as Remus’s mouth stretches out. To think his brother would confess to such a thing… it’d be foolish of Remus not to relish in this opportunity! He grasps at the air, summoning his morning star, and holds it over his head. If Roman has conceded to defeat already, Remus might as well challenge him this way; it’d be way too satisfying to witness that loss.

While he fully expects some form of retaliation, Remus is determined to smash his weapon down Roman’s head. As the morning star’s spikes graze his bangs, Roman pulls his sword up to meet them. The clanking of metal against metal scratches at Roman’s ears, adding to his discomfort.

Remus’s attack was all too sudden for him, albeit being rather obvious, so Roman barely managed to have a hand on his sword. With his posture straight and his left hand upright, the position’s starting to strain his wrist, especially with the added pressure of Remus’s morning star.

Their weapons struggle against each other for a bit before Roman belts out a belated battle cry and manages to push the spiked ball off of his sword. Once he takes a few steps back, the morning star crashes onto the floor, just a couple of centimeters away from being wedged into Roman’s foot.

Snickers escape Remus. Not breaking eye contact with his opponent, he hauls his weapon off the ground and onto his shoulder—the cracked marble failing to grab his attention. Everything about his appearance shows that he’s primed and ready for another go at Roman: from the glint in his eyes to the practice swings of his morning star. Granted, the impatience he’s displaying can also apply to Roman; he’s not one to back down from a challenge. Still, he remains firm on not engaging with this battle. Knowing them, they’d spend hours on a pointless match and that wouldn’t get Roman anywhere with the story.

“Can we return to the task at hand already?” Roman holds his hand up, one that’s been stripped of its sword. At that show of surrender, Remus’s delighted expression falls. The itch to fight is still present, but there’s nothing worse than an immobile target to him. He’ll let Roman have his way—begrudgingly, of course—but not without making his aggravation known. His morning star is, once again, dropped onto the floor to create an even messier hole on the floor. He doesn’t continue with the conversation until he grumbles, “Party pooper.”

The two spend the following minutes going back and forth over the nature of the characters. There are a generous amount of interruptions—most coming from Roman—so no advancements to the scene have been made yet. Roman cutting him off has gotten Remus to the point where he’s lying on the ground, his shape very much akin to that of a starfish. This isn’t to say that Roman’s having a good time; quite the contrary, actually. He’s taken the throne as his seat and solace while he’s going through Remus’s suggestions.

Roman won’t even consider his brother’s proposals, though. It’s bizarre that he’d have the bard as unsympathetic—well, it isn’t bizarre for Remus, but Roman could never subject his creation to such a fate. The backstory his brother thought up also leaves a sour taste in his mouth: having the oudist hang around the warlock to seek revenge in the name of his family is just a bit too much. More than that, it’s rather cliché and Roman doesn’t shy away from expressing that.

Needless to say, Remus is already pissed, so Roman adding onto that doesn’t bode well for the situation they’re in. Although, being bothered won’t stop Remus from having fun pestering the other. Of all people, Roman’s the last one to criticize anything for being stale or cliché; he deserves some teasing every now and then. “The off-brand Disney prince can be a hypocrite, I see.” Remus pokes fun, already ripping his ears off in preparation for what’s to come.

“ _Off-brand?!_ ” Roman’s eyes practically bulge out of their sockets. Despite losing the organs of hearing, Roman’s screech is enough to lift Remus’s spirits up, giving him the energy to push his arguments past his brother’s stubborn walls even more.

“You should be thankful I’m trying to help,” he begins, reattaching the ears to his head. “If I was in control, every scene would be gushing with all kinds of bodily fluids. No stone left unturned, or as I like to say: no body left un-oozed!” With those thoughts running through his head, Remus’s annoyance dissolves into nothing and his signature grin returns in full force.

Roman drops his head onto his hands. “By the Star Dazzles of the Evans twins, I do _not_ have the strength for this.” In all honesty, he doesn’t know why he hasn’t kicked Remus out yet; it would’ve been in his best interest to do so. If he does it now, it’ll probably be too late: what with everything his brother stated cementing in his brain already.

Reaching his annoying-Roman quota for the day, Remus stands and dusts off whatever imaginary dirt he’s acquired from the palace. He’s set on just leaving Roman to wallow in his self-pity, but not without a few more jabs. “Look, destruction is the ideal way of creating tension.” This piques Roman’s curiosity, his body tensing at the sense Remus has somehow gained. “If you want to go do your boring ‘friendship is magic’ bullshit, then be my guest. Just don’t flood Thomas’s _whole_ head with it, leave some room for my trash to fester!”

Remus sinks out and an uncomfortable silence fills the room immediately after. With him gone, Roman’s body relaxes, slumping further down the throne. Mentally, he isn’t at all content with how things are left off. It’s true that he isn’t a fan of Remus’s works by any stretch of the imagination, but his last statement’s striking a chord with him.

Destruction doesn’t need to happen in the physical sense: Roman could incorporate it within the two characters’ relationship. There isn’t much coming to mind now but there is _something_. Maybe there is some kind of merit to what Remus was trying to convey—maybe.

After sorting through a sample version of what the confrontation scene could be, Roman takes a deep breath. Like he’s done before, one flick of the wrist has him summon the warlock and bard once again, reenacting their argument along with a few of Remus’s touches—only to see how they fare, he assures himself.

While Roman assesses the characters, mentally taking notes of edits he should make later, his shoulders dip when an arm is slung over them. “You forgot the blood, brother of mine.” Remus suggests, pointing at the characters with the end of his morning star.

“We’re not putting—can it not be implied?”

“You say that before you’ve even tried the blood, Romano!”

“Ugh, whatever. Show me, I guess… and get off of me, you ignoremus!” Roman may or may not have been convinced to add the blood after.

*******

After numerous cases of the others figuratively barging into his quarters unannounced, Logan created a timetable for them to follow. The events basically consist of his own work and then time slots for the other sides. Adding on Janus and Remus was hectic for his mentality, but he doesn’t complain too much since it’s a system that works. Kinda.

Roman has a track record of not arriving on time. He mostly steps in on the others’ slots or, even worse, during Logan’s leisure hour. All of his visits end in Logan kicking him out one way or another, yet it doesn’t stop him from teasing Logan every now and again. It’s why it’s a bit startling, to say the least, that Roman’s now in front of him and in his room… during his assigned slot.

“You require my assistance? With a fictional story? Are you positive you don’t have the wrong side?” Scrambling his laptop off his lap and onto the cushion next to him, Logan pulls one leg over the other in his seat and squints at Roman. Out of the requests he expected to come out of Roman’s mouth, a creative endeavour hadn’t crossed his mind once.

“I’m as sure as a lock!” Roman answers from his place next to the lamp. His smug smile doesn’t go unnoticed as Logan rolls his eyes; he’s almost positive that Roman’s been saving that line for weeks now.

Usually, inviting any kind of support would be Roman’s last resort; this applies even more when the request is directed towards Logan. When he eventually asked for help before, it would come after some complaining. Roman would cross his arms and sigh incessantly, ensuring that his reluctance was clear. The Roman in front of him, however, hasn’t stopped grinning since his arrival—and it’s rather pleasant.

They have their tiffs here and there but, in terms of animosity, there’s barely anything between them anymore. Even with that in mind, Roman usually goes to him for editing or workshopping—the last quarter of his projects basically—so it’s a bit strange that he’s come to Logan for other duties. Regardless, Logan doesn’t believe he’s the most fitting side for whatever task that’ll be thrown at him.

“Rest assured, my spectacled companion!” Roman exclaims—an arm stretched out to Logan—after inching closer towards the couch. “I’m here to ask for research, and research only.”

When he finds nothing but an unamused look from Logan, his arm drops. Instead of going his usual approach of complaining, Roman leans his body on the staircase’s post, the corners of his lips tugging upward slightly. “You know, like, finding proof to the possible existence of dragons, checking if there’s a law against cloning, what flowers create the best poison,” he pauses, enjoying the way Logan’s adjusting his glasses. Throwing him off his rhythm is much easier than Roman thought it’d be!

It’s not as if Logan’s oblivious to Roman’s tactics—he isn’t exactly subtle—but the prospect of having this discussion has him excited. Dragons don’t exist, yet he can find a library of information regarding the evidences historians and the like have compiled in his head. Clones are fairly new to humans, but Logan does have a plethora of theories on how animal cloning could be a detriment to human ones. And don’t even get him started on Roman’s use of “best”!

Holding back on commenting is difficult, but it’s necessary since he doesn’t want to seem too eager. “I am… slightly intrigued.”

Roman all but bounces as he draws closer to Logan. He could’ve sat down next to him, but he’s just _buzzing_ —there’s no possible way he could stop moving about. Heck, he abided by the dreaded schedule just to get into the other’s good graces; refusing should be the last thing on Logan’s mind.

“There are literally five minutes left in your slot, Roman.”

“That’s beside the point!”

Logan sighs, something he realizes he does quite often around Roman. In full honesty, he does not mind collaborating with him in any form of labor; the issue lies in his own competency. Fantasy isn’t a field he’s well-versed in, so there’s a worry in whether or not he’ll actually be of use.

Then again, Roman did put the effort in following his rule, albeit it being an extremely low amount. And Logan is not one to pass up an opportunity to learn more, especially if it involves stimulating topics like the ones Roman brought up. While he’s at it, he can also address a concern he’s been having.

Four minutes, thirteen seconds and counting until Roman’s session ends: not nearly enough time to discuss matters properly. Normally, kicking him out would be Logan’s go-to, but shaving the minutes off tomorrow’s slot seems like a more fitting penalty. “Fine, I’ll reluctantly assist with your research—”

With his arm curled towards the ceiling, Roman whoops, “Victory!”

“—provided that you answer a question first.”

“ _Whyyy…_ ” Roman’s shoulders slump, his arms swinging by his sides. Logan attaching a condition like that shouldn’t come as a shock, but it’s upsetting nonetheless.

“Alright, Stinky & the Brain”—Roman straightens before he gestures at Logan—“hit me with your best shot.”

Not needing any more prompting, Logan stands up. Maintaining eye level to the other end of the conversation is a surefire method to keeping it on track, naturally.

He doesn’t mean to do this, he never does—it’s merely in Logan’s nature to contradict Roman’s flippant one. So when there’s a concern that needs to be raised, Logan does not hesitate in doing so. “Why would you want to continue pursuing this endeavour?”

Instantly, Logan notes changes in Roman: his knitted brows, the broadened eyes, the overall sullen look. Even so, leaving a thought unfinished is unbecoming of him, so Logan carries on. “It seems rather pointless: what with Thomas not knowing what to do with this story of yours.”

Those words, while direct and honest, are a tad too nasty for Roman to stomach. They’ve been through this already, they were supposed to be done with pushing each other’s contributions down—and yet, Logan seems to want to break that streak of theirs. Roman has to give it to him, though: he really knows how to keep his tongue sharp while remaining as blunt as ever.

He’s all too familiar with the frustration bubbling up. It’s taking most of his willpower not to just lash out, so he settles for letting out a groan. “It makes me happy, Logan.” That should be enough, one reason should be enough, but Roman knows that it never is and proceeds. “It makes Thomas happy. I think that’s enough reason for me to pursue this.” His eyes don’t leave Logan’s, practically pleading him not to press the matter further.

Logan doesn’t seem to be taking the hint, though, seeing that the response he gives comes with crossed arms and a neutral face. “While that is admirable, Roman, I do not… believe—what are you doing?”

The interruption happens when Roman stomps out of his field of vision, moving towards the stair steps. Logan understands from his body language that the other is troubled, but he can’t predict what Roman’s trying to do there—and he’s flopping down on the steps. Perfect.

Rolling his eyes, Logan turns to face Roman, or as much of him as he can see through the balusters. His dramatics aren’t anything new, so Logan does believe that there is some point to this, although his mind could very easily change.

Lying down on his back, Roman realizes two things: one, his position is oddly comfortable and two, he can feel himself getting calmer. Truthfully, he can’t fathom why he repositioned himself. All he knows is that he was seething in one second and an overwhelming need to sit down overcame him the next. He’s thankful, though; now he can counter Logan without losing his cool.

With his pupils glued to the ceiling, Roman sucks in a breath before exhaling. “Why are you still working on the life management system for Thomas?” His voice is much softer than it should be, given that he’s picking at a gash he normally doesn’t mess with.

The question causes Logan to stumble in his footing. He stutters considerably. Once his hands come in contact with his tie, he settles down. “I… I fail to see how this relates to our conversation.” His fingers smooth out the tie, correcting its already adjusted form.

“Just answer me, Logan.” He thinks about it, about how Thomas never seems to fall back on his idea, if only to grasp at what Roman’s trying to show him.

Thomas doesn’t purposefully ignore the schedule that was made for him, Logan’s aware of that; he listens to his other suggestions just fine. So when Thomas kept ignoring this perfect method Logan developed, that should’ve been the sign for him to stop, but he couldn’t. Every morning, every single time he woke up, Thomas would think about how much more efficient his life could be. It would lead him back to Logan’s schedule and a hope blossoms within him each time it happens. Although it never stays too long, the thought would always return to him. So how could Logan, in good conscience, leave that project behind?

Simply speaking, Logan keeps at it because he knows for certainty that Thomas needs it. And that’s all he’ll tell Roman. “I still don’t understand what my answer has to do with your nonexistent one.”

Roman bites his tongue to stop himself from making a comment. If he were in an actually rotten mood, he’d go off on how the _logical_ side should be able to realize a simple connection between both of their issues. But he isn’t, so he doesn’t. What he does do is try to clarify his reasons to Logan.

He stretches his right arm up to the ceiling, his gaze following suit. “Thomas has no plan on what to do with the story. I get it, but”—Roman’s voice strains as he pulls his hand down to linger over his heart—“he _needs_ it, Logan.”

Perhaps if Roman’s theatrical tendencies were cut, Logan might’ve reconsidered, but as it is now… “That sounds like an emotionally charged exaggeration.”

It’s at this point that Roman decides that one more cheeky retort out of Logan and he’ll just up & leave. He’s already exhausted himself by going through this whole ordeal, but he wants to find a way to convince Logan. “It isn’t. Just as you know Thomas needs order in his life, I am certain he needs this story. I don’t care if he ends up scrapping it—”

“Roman.”

“Okay, I’d be crushed beyond belief, but listen to me for a second.” Maybe Logan doesn’t think Roman’s taking it seriously, maybe that’s the root of his problem. Putting aside the fact that they’ve dealt with that exact issue before, Roman doesn’t mind proving himself to Logan for the second time. Heck, he’d do it a dozen times over if it means he can keep his project alive. “Tell me, when was the last time you saw Thomas procrastinate? And I mean _really_ procrastinate.”

Logan hums, collecting previous records of Thomas’s memory in his head. His recent increase in activity was noted by Logan before, but he never paid too much attention to it. It doesn’t provide much information outside of how Thomas gained a sense of productivity all of a sudden. This type of behaviour is natural for humans, so Roman calling attention to it doesn’t make much sense to him. Tapping his fingers on his arm, he answers, “That would be a few weeks.”

“Exactly!” Roman’s arm pokes out between the balusters to point at the other side. The yell along with the protruding finger in front of his face do not amuse Logan in the slightest. He somewhat wishes the camera was here so he could direct this nonsense to their audience.

“He isn’t obsessed with the story, Logan,” Roman clarifies, wagging his finger. “He just cares about it…” As he continues, his voice steadily shrinks into a whisper. His arms fall limp and dangle outside of the staircase. “He cares so much that he’s willing to finish all the work he dreads just to think about it at the end of the night.” Memories of young Thomas start flooding. The restless nights he used to have, grabbing a pen half an hour after bedtime because of the urge to just write… those are times Roman misses dearly. “What possible harm could that do?”

Logan can’t refute that argument. To be frank, he finds it impressive that Roman’s taken as much precaution as he did. It’s just that there might be some other concerns they’ve neglected without realizing. “He might still leave it behind.”

“I understand.”

“And you don’t mind continuing your pursuit with that in mind?”

Sitting up, Roman runs his hands over his face once as the fatigue fully registers. “I don’t think there’s a way to tear my mind from it.” He stands up and stretches, prepared to scurry on over to his room. There’s a certain amount of energy needed to clash with Logan, and Roman’s has officially depleted. It’s best if he just leaves.

For the first time today, the corners of Logan’s lip curl upwards. “Very well, then. Since this isn’t causing you distress like I first perceived, I’m ready to read what you have,” he says, already marching towards the base of the stairs.

“Wait, wha—!” Startled, Roman’s foot gets caught in the other and he slips with a resounding _oof_. Fortunately, the fall doesn’t cause much damage, save for his royal rump landing harshly on one of the steps. He winces, rubbing at his hip to ease the pain that is most definitely not there.

So, apparently Logan wasn’t trying to antagonize him this whole time? Fantastic, he can feel the pain and the guilt all at once!

When Roman collects himself, he notices dress shoes on the base of the stairs. Looking up, instead of making sure Roman’s alright like any person would, he finds Logan smirking at him. “The empire has fallen once again, I see.”

He goes up a few steps, taking a seat next to Roman when the latter scoffs at him. “You can’t exactly blame _me_ for falling with all the pushing _you_ were doing.” Roman tries to keep his frown intact, but it dissolves into laughter in a matter of seconds. How could he not when Logan’s already cut the tension for them? Well, his butt technically did, but still.

Nudging his elbow against Logan’s arms, Roman winks, “And that’s _princedom_ to you, pal.” It’s not a significant detail by any means; he still feels the necessity to draw attention to it. For one thing, Logan would appreciate the conflict in terminology. At least Roman believes that he does, but the lack of a smile on Logan says otherwise.

“I apologize. I did not intend to come off that way,” Logan admits, referring to Roman’s first statement. Before he can explain further, he turns his head to look at Roman. Establishing eye contact should be the first step to expressing his sincerity.

“I was just taking precautions so we could avoid a repeat of… previous efforts.” The last time Thomas and Roman devoted themselves to something, it had long-lasting effects on everyone, but especially to those two. They struggled and it took them time to bounce back, so Logan wasn’t too thrilled with the prospect of another project taking a hold of them—he was worried.

It felt—it was rational for him to be concerned, to ensure that Roman’s ready for whatever consequences, should they come his way. With what Roman’s revealed to him, however, he understands his mistake in doing so. “You’ve shown me before how dedicated you are to Thomas’s wellbeing, Roman, and today is no different.” He lays a gentle hand on Roman’s shoulder, another example of showing sincerity. “It would be foolish of me not to support you,” Logan smiles.

He assumes that Roman would offer thanks or, more likely, question his earnest words. Neither of his guesses turn out to be true when Roman’s mouth twists into a playful smile. “Mr. ‘Beautiful Biosphere’ doesn’t mind diving into other worlds with me now?”

“So long as the creative stylings of those worlds are that above ‘Mr. Smartypants’.” Logan pulls his hand back.

“Bold words coming from the maker of ‘little bratty baby’.”

Tearing his eyes away from Roman, Logan clears his throat, “I believe I asked for your notes.” As requested, the prince summons his batch of papers; a bunch of chuckles follow. He dumps them onto Logan’s awaiting arms and counts down to the incoming criticism.

Not even a second after that thought passes through his mind, Logan hits him with a comment. “These notes are terribly unorganized.” He manages to voice that opinion while still going through them—his lips moving as he reads silently.

Unlike how he’d usually act, Roman reclines on the steps behind him—it’s still cozy somehow—and lets Logan do his thing. Of course his notes are a bit of a mess: he’s not even in the planning phase yet. He’s barely even out of the preplanning phase! Also, as an added bonus, he might have left it that way so the organization would be up to their resident neat geek.

“The amount of favours you’ve asked of me today is unbelievable.”

“Hey now, I only asked for two things!” Roman retorts, poking a finger at Logan’s side.

“I had no intention of complaining. If anything, this is beneficial to me, as it means you owe me two favours now, correct?”

Roman gasps, not only for the treachery that just occurred, but also due to Logan’s insistence on reading. His face remains neutral—no smirk, no quirking eyebrow, nothing. He should at least acknowledge the side he’s offended! “Betrayed by my own best friend”—Roman pulls an arm over his eyes—“I may never live to see another day.”

“Yes, tragic. Back to the topic at hand, I must say you’re quite thorough with the details here. Did you try substituting…” It’s unintentional, Roman tuning Logan out. He is actually listening and some words do indeed stick, but he’s distracted.

Logan, by nature, is not usually animated. When he gets into it, though, there’s always this flickering gleam in his eyes, his instructions become less and less rigid with each passing word, and he’s just happy.

As Roman revels in the image before him, all of his thoughts keep echoing the same line: one he’s carried with him throughout every interaction he’s had with Logan. _You know, you guys might not think so, but you two make a really good team._

And Roman gets a strong feeling that those words still ring true.

*******

Asking others for help isn’t an option Roman’s hyperaware of. Soon though, with how unstable his creative process is, he realizes that having support is more than necessary from time to time. He learns to be better at asking, although it does take him a few weeks before he’s gathered enough courage to do so. And right now: it’s Virgil’s turn to be at the receiving end of his pesky requests.

Just the thought of bouncing off ideas has him smiling. Folks poking their fingers in his work is a definite pet peeve of Roman’s, but he can’t deny the joy he’s garnered from it recently. Working with Logan has already skyrocketed his motivation—if asked, he’d deny Remus’s contributions to it—so he can’t imagine how much more he’ll gain after talking to Virgil.

Rising up to the cobwebbed room, Roman calls out to his friend with cadence, “ _Oh, Virgiii—_ uh, he is… not here.”

He eyes Virgil’s vacant spot, rubbing his chin. Out of every other side, Virgil’s the one that rarely leaves his room, so the disappearance doesn’t add up. If Roman were to stretch out his suspension of disbelief, then Virgil being with Patton or Logan could be an explanation to why he’s not here… it’s just one Roman doesn’t subscribe to. It would make a lot more sense if he was still in the room.

“Sup.”

Roman springs with a yelp, holding a hand to his heart and catching his breath. When a bout of chuckles invades the previous quiet of the room, Roman jerks his head to the right and focuses his sight on the side he’s been looking for. He’s sitting on the floor, back resting on the couch and music blaring into his ears.

“One, that was hilarious. Two, can you do that again? I wanna record it for prosperity’s sake.” Virgil smirks, holding up his phone for emphasis. He expects multiple retorts from Roman, as it’s almost a tradition for them at this point, but he seems satisfied with just refusing and plopping down onto the couch.

He starts twiddling his thumbs, the severity of the topic suddenly hitting him. Since Logan did have an issue with the project, it can only mean that Virgil has an avalanche of them—or at least, that’s how Roman sees it. If there’s any hope for him to get Virgil to help, Roman needs to tread carefully. “I know this is… more than unusual for me,” he pauses, trying to figure out the best way to word his request, “but I kinda sorta need to ask about an _eensy teensy tiny_ thing.”

“Uh-huh, sure.” Rolling his eyes, Virgil tunes back to his music. It’s pretty obvious to him that there’s more to this than what Roman’s revealing. While he is curious, he doesn’t need to expend any energy on the matter: ignoring Roman for a few minutes should be enough do the trick. “Alright, _fine_.” Or maybe a few a seconds is.

Virgil smirks, tilting his head back enough to see Roman crossing his arms. “They’re _two_ eensy teensy tiny things. Yeesh! One would think you’d be more trusting of your pals, Paper Sours.” His grumbling increases, forgetting his task for a chance to gripe about the importance of friendship and the like.

“Wait, hold on.” Roman scoffs at the interruption, probably about to start a speech regarding Virgil’s hospitality—or lack thereof. Before he manages to do so, Virgil cuts him off again. “You just called me a nickname, and one you _knew_ I’d like? You’re trying to get me in a good mood… yeah, no, spill it. What do you want, Lancenot?”

Frankly, Roman’s thankful he doesn’t have to try and butter Virgil up any more than he already has, disregarding the fact that he hasn’t done so at all.

Without any more prompting, as if a switch has been flipped, Roman beams. “Why, it’s about my wondrous tale!” Despite the faint ring of black under his eyes, his enthusiasm remains high—a shame it doesn’t travel over to Virgil.

Shaking his head, he mutters, “Nope, nope, not happening. I’m not handling this.” Roman might have had Logan sucked into this project, but Virgil will not be snared so easily. Logan was supposed to help with just some research and editing, if Virgil recalls correctly, but now he and Roman are basically joined at the hip! It’s all those two yap about in their free time and Virgil is not prepared to join those chatterboxes.

“I’ll have you know that he joined me of his own volition—”

“You’re really working to get the snake’s job, huh?”

“—and I’m only asking you to make my darling children some playlists!”

“I’m not—wait. Children? _Playlists?_ ” Virgil turns his body, facing Roman and raising an eyebrow in the process. Sure, he expected Roman to insist like he usually does, but playlists? Granted, he should question the children first, but playlists? It’s just that months have passed since Roman brought his story up; it doesn’t make sense that he wants songs (for inspiration, he’s guessing) now of all times. “How far into this thing are you exactly?”

His question should cue Roman to answer, but he goes for a different response. He drapes himself over the couch’s arm and buries his head in it, muffling his whines. It’s the worst moment for Virgil to remove his headphones, since this is definitely the beginning of Roman’s fits. Even still, it doesn’t seem that he’ll leave any time soon, so Virgil might as well show that he’s listening.

“We barely moved an inch, Virgil!” he complains, arms flapping incessantly with each word. A sigh leaves him as he sits back up, his hands still animated because of the conversation. “We’re still at the planning phase, because Logan’s all like”—Roman tugs at his sash, instantly morphing it into a tie around his neck—“ _planning is essential in the case you deviate from your original idea, blah blah blah and so forth._ ”

With the tie adjustment and the tone of his voice matching Logan’s almost perfectly, Roman leaves Virgil stunned. So much so that he has the urge to ask Roman for an impression of Janus next but, thankfully, he’s more levelheaded than that… he’ll just keep that request on the backburner for now. “Then don’t you think it’s a bit early for playlists?”

Roman brightens up at that. His front as Logan fades out as his sash returns to its original state and his smile grows larger. “Oh but we’re going to finish planning in a week,” he confesses, the thoughts of finally writing occupying his mind, “so yes, it would be cool to have some tunes I can soon croon to.” For an impromptu rhyme, Roman feels pretty proud of it and holds his hand up, waiting for a high five.

What Roman’s oblivious to, currently, is Virgil’s posture. He’s stiffened, no longer leaning on the couch. Tapping on his headphone speakers, he hisses, “A week… that’s barely three days!” It’s more to himself than to Roman. The thought of Thomas starting a long-term project with barely any prep—it’s a recipe for disaster.

Moving his gaze from Virgil to his raised hand, Roman settles for a self-five. “Pretty sure it’s actually seven days.” He doesn’t take notice to Virgil’s concerned state: too upset at losing his moment of happiness… and there might also be some pettiness from the high five.

Virgil, not in the mood for Roman’s antics, snaps. “No, you don’t get it. You—” This isn’t the time to let his frustration surface, not in this room at least. He’s well aware that venting his problems to Roman won’t do them any good so he takes a moment, purses his lips and exhales. “Okay. Did Thomas figure out what he’s going to do with”—he shakes his hands, gesturing at everything—“your story thing.”

Being confronted this way, it leaves Roman to do nothing but blink at Virgil. He has thought about this before, about his own indecision. Honestly, he doesn’t want to know what Thomas plans to do in the end. There’s too much pressure on what path to take and he’d rather just live in the moment of writing the story. So, Roman brushes the question off with a nervous laugh. “No, not yet. But—”

“Do _you_ even know what you’re going to do with it?”

“Look, Virgil—”

“What, Roman?!”

He’s taken aback by Virgil’s glare; it’s been too long since that frustration was directed at him. The longer Virgil stares at him, huffing slightly, the more Roman isn’t sure what he should do to fix this.

As he moves to speak, Virgil tears his eyes away from him, much preferring his lap over letting his irritation bubble over. He’s trying to make sense of it, Roman’s plan. With his track record, Virgil would bet that there isn’t one at all. “It’s just so reckless!” His eyes refuse to look back at Roman. “What’s he gonna do? Are you guys going to make another musical? He can’t afford that with all the other stuff he has going on!” Roman chooses not to mention that he’s had an idea for a song for a couple of days now.

Every now and again, in-between his rambling, Virgil blows a bit of air to get his bangs off his face. Points in his argument are accentuated by feverish hand movements and Roman truly can’t tell if Virgil’s firing words at him or himself. “Let’s say he’s going to do a YouTube series. It wouldn’t take off immediately, everyone’s too focused on other stuff from his channel, just…” His spiel carries on, going over other possibilities like, god forbid, publishing a book.

Roman has to give it to Virgil: his points are valid and should be taken into consideration. The thing is, Roman can’t find it within himself to make this decision, or to even bring it up to Thomas. There’s just something about the choice he isn’t quite ready to face.

To distract himself, to comfort Virgil or maybe both, Roman places a hand on his shoulder. He’s been rattling on about this one topic, getting more and more exasperated by the second, so Roman tries to help him feel at ease. Just, anything would work better than the alarm in Virgil’s actions.

“Don’t. I’m not panicking,” he responds, gently swatting the hand away. In all honesty, Virgil isn’t panicking: taking safety measures is something he has to do. If anything, he’s more bothered by the fact that Roman didn’t think of any of the points he’s made. Long ago, he resigned himself to realizing Roman’s impulsive behaviours, but to this extent is beyond even him.

After Roman withdraws his arms, he mutters, “I was just trying to help.” Virgil finally faces him and his eyes widen; the dark bags under Roman’s eyes being considerably more black than they were before. The room’s taken its toll on him, his emotions running high. Although judging by the grip Roman has on his own arms along with his constant murmuring, he’s trying to fight it.

Needless to say, Virgil starts to regret thinking of him as brash and impulsive. With his room being as intense as it is, it’s a wonder Roman’s managing enough self-control to not lash out. Maybe he should try to explain his side better to Roman.

Virgil stands up, in what feels like forever, and plops himself onto the couch. Keeping a distance between them, he slides down until only his head and upper back come in contact with the back cushions. He just can’t feel comfortable without a bit of slumping.

“Look. I never not worry”—Roman relaxes the hold on his arm, listening—“You’re just an idiot sometimes and you need someone to get it through your thick, ginormous head.”

“Is my head that big…” Roman wonders aloud, clutching his head to examine it.

“It’s enormous,” Virgil ignores the squeak that comes out of Roman and continues, “but yeah, you’re being a dumbass right now and you need to talk to Thomas about this.”

For a moment, the thought of doing that crosses Roman’s mind. A moment after, he considers not doing it. Every few seconds, he presents himself with alternative answers, but he can’t do anything about them. Fear was never a deterrent for him—always the ever brave and valiant prince—but it practically controls him now. He fights for Thomas, as they all do. He protects Thomas, as they all do. He fears his contributions, while the rest don’t.

This story—although he prefers it to be as grand as the boundless sky—can’t be more than a fun pet project. Roman can’t allow it be more than that. He has his reasonings, his own doubts he can mull over later. Right now, though, he isn’t in the state to talk to Thomas about this. Because of that, he can’t present Virgil with an answer that would satisfy him. What he can try, though, is be honest.

“However high I go with my ideas, Virgil, I would never do anything to harm Thomas.” Offering a slight smile, Roman adds, “Or any of you, for that matter.”

Virgil stares at the ceiling, a smile tugging at his lips. The reassurance from Roman isn’t necessary—appreciated, but not necessary. Yeah, he calls onto Roman’s faults more than anybody else; it still doesn’t make him question the prince’s role as one of Thomas’s side. Plus, Logan’s already okayed the whole thing. Who was Virgil to refute logic?

The silence closes in on them. It isn’t a normal sound for Virgil, so there’s the temptation to pull his headphones onto his ears. That is, until he recalls something Roman mentioned earlier. “What was the second thing you wanted to ask?”

“If you had any issues with the project.”

Chuckling, Virgil calls the two of them absolute disasters. An awkward quiet circles the room once again and the impulse to go for his music strikes once more. With Roman in the room, he can’t possibly believe there’s enough time for that, though. So, he decides to approach him instead. “I’m going to regret bringing this up, but your kids—”

“Oh, yes, my most splendiferous children!” Roman jumps. Without a second to spare, he summons a bunch of notebooks and dumps them all onto Virgil’s lap. He babbles on about how attached he’s become to these characters as the other side flips through some pages.

Roman’s spared no expense, Virgil notes, since there is an abundant amount of information for these characters. The realization that one notebook belongs to a single character only further highlights this observation. That being said, he can work with this: all this info should help him figure out some songs.

He pauses his skimming when his pupils find a line crossed in black multiple times. As he looks over the rest of the page, he sees a couple of other crossed out words. Quirking an eyebrow at this, Virgil ruminates on it. A theory pops up, but he has to test it before throwing accusations at Roman.

As he decides to read a bit slower this time around, Virgil checks the other notebooks again. Greeted with a flurry of black once more, he can safely confirm his doubts. “You cannot be serious, Roman,” Virgil taunts with a smirk, showing the pages to the other side.

“… sticking to names is way more difficult than it needs to be, okay?”

“You are the worst dad.”

“You take that back!”

******

As he does almost every week, Roman stops by Patton’s room for another day of snacking and chatting with his good ol’ pal. They’ve found some comfort within each other recently, and the tradition of meeting up to talk just manifested itself thanks to that. Patton sees it as a means to not bottle everything up, while Roman enjoys the more gossipy aspect of it—of course Patton does as well, but he tries to have their discussions remain on course. They never really do.

Much like every visit, the photos lying around the room have Roman enraptured. He’s been here enough times to have familiarized himself with the trinkets already, but it’s just that _everything_ reminds him of Thomas. It could be the room’s influence, sure, but he can’t seem to get over the growth Thomas has exhibited—there’s too much to revisit, too many memories he’d like to relive.

“I think we ran out of ice cream here, kiddo.” Turning his head towards the kitchen, Roman finds Patton exiting it with a frown. From that reaction, Roman guesses that Patton thought today would be a venting session, but it isn’t exactly a “wallow in tubs of ice cream” sort of day. He’s about to explain that when he hears a few _thuds_ coming from the table.

“But hopefully you won’t mind a _pop_ sicle instead!” Patton giggles, pointing a thumb to his face. Some of his puns aren’t the most subtle, and this one is no exception, but Roman snorts at it nonetheless. Honestly, it’s a bit strange how he hasn’t added “pop” or “pops” to his repertoire yet; he’ll make a mental note of that later.

With the smell of chocolate invading his nostrils, Roman has no choice but to join Patton in the table. A tray of leftover brownies—he assumes by Logan—lies before him, along with a red mug. Roman mumbles an acknowledgement and thanks Patton for his courtesy before inspecting the cup. Tipping it slightly to look at the inside, Roman’s eyes meet the bottom of the mug.

His head shoots up slightly before going back down to peer at the object. No coffee, milk tea, hot cocoa—not even water. “Er, Pat…” It’s a tiny detail really, but Patton isn’t one to be neglectful when it comes to these things. In an attempt to find an explanation, Roman lifts his head up to face Patton but stops in his tracks by just the sight of him. He’s munching on a brownie, a smile adorning his face.

There’s no need to bother him with extra work, Roman thinks, not with the topic he’s about to throw at him. “I wanted to talk to you about the story,” he begins, swirling his cup, as if any liquid’s sloshing around in there.

“Oh!” Delighted, Patton retracts the arm that was aiming for a second brownie and beams. “Speaking of, actually, Thomas has been singing that song you wrote for it _all day_! Gosh, he’s been so happy because of—”

“I’m thinking about ending it.”

Roman keeps his eyes on the bottom of the mug; the fear of being crushed under Patton’s gaze taking over. He hugs the cup between his hands, hoping his imagined warmth of it could settle the tingling in his fingers. With every step of this project, Roman becomes more and more aware of the glee it brings Thomas. There wasn’t a moment in his existence where willingly denying that joy from Thomas felt like an option, but the repercussions for continuing are too dire for Roman to ignore.

His mind’s made up already. As much as the decision will ruin him, he trusts that this is the best course of action.

Before he even processes Roman’s question, Patton’s first instinct is to search for a reason. They’ve all had their hiccups with Thomas every now and then, so what could cause such a shift from Roman?

“You two… I haven’t seen you both this relaxed in so long. There’s just”—he breathes in to collect his thoughts—“this pure, unrestrained joy around you and Thomas, Roman. Why would you want to let go of that?”

The short answer is that he doesn’t. Nothing can make him want what he’s doing, but he needs to make this decision.

While Patton tries to reason with him, his hands opt for clutching the tablecloth. “I talked to Logan and Virgil.” That should be enough, he believes: explaining to Patton that those discussions opened his eyes to mistakes he might be making. That’s what Roman holds onto as he spills out his thoughts, that they’d be enough to have the other side concede. They aren’t.

“But you reassured them, right? They both still have meetings with you, I doubt they’d want you stop.” It’s true, Roman doesn’t even need think about it. Virgil’s too fond of the characters to back out now, Logan enjoys poking at the plot holes and reinventing the world with Roman; they’ve all gotten used to working on it and he can’t imagine what’ll happen when he informs them of what he’s planning.

“There’s more you’re not telling me…” Patton thinks aloud. Roman’s eyes have yet to meet the other’s, still focused on the table and its contents. He’s been hoping to avoid talking about his actual doubts, but he apparently forgot how vulnerable he can get around his friend. If he looks at Patton for even a second, there’s no doubt in his mind that he’d tell him everything.

Patton respects everyone’s boundaries. If anyone were to stop pressuring him, it’d be Patton, and Roman is more than aware of this; just one word from him could have Patton back off. Something about abusing that fact feels wrong, however; the guilt would just eat away at him.

Drawing one possible conclusion, Roman speaks up in a hushed tone, “I’m well aware of the difference between reality and fantasy after last time.” Patton winces at the reminder, the event that’s been brought up inviting unwelcome memories—ones much more vivid than necessary on account of the room. He shakes his head to recover from them; the need to listen to Roman overpowering the discomfort.

Roman brushes a few hair strands from his eyes before exhaling. “It’d be so easy if it were just a dream.” His thoughts begin to wander to Thomas, to how he’s become more infatuated with the project than Roman could’ve ever predicted. He clutches his sash, trembling. “This urge… he hasn’t felt it in so long, _I_ haven’t felt it in so long. More than anything, I want him to pursue this, Patton. But I’m worried.” There are a laughable amount of methods that could wrong with the story, so many ways he could make Thomas regret ever starting it. They’re all so terrifying to Roman.

His right hand remains gripping at the tablecloth, while the left finds some comfort in combing through his hair. What if Thomas forgets his other responsibilities? What if it drives him up the wall and he loses interest after the fact? What if this isn’t the right thing to do, and Roman was misleading him? God, it wouldn’t be the first time.

He has half a mind to just sink back down to his room; everything about this conversation already draining him. Before he could entertain that thought for one more second, his pupils catch Patton’s hand inching towards his own. “You say you’re worried, but”—Patton’s fingers tap Roman’s before linking them together, squeezing his hand—“you’re smiling, Roman.”

A slight strain on his cheeks registers right after… he is smiling. The realization has Roman lift his head, meeting Patton’s eyes. They’re squinting from the smile he’s offering and Roman involuntarily lets out a soft laugh. Leave it to Patton’s patented charm to extract that reaction from him.

“Of course I am. It has been quite the while since I got attached to a project, after all.” As he speaks those words, Roman is struck by the thoughts of the last idea he grew too attached to. The wrong decisions he’s made, the event that obviously held more importance, everything—how could he not expect a repeat of those times?

Patton makes sure to squeeze Roman’s hand once more, a gesture he hopes to keep the other grounded. “Hey now, there isn’t a choice this time,” he stops, waiting for a reaction from Roman. When his frown doesn’t let up, Patton adds, “You don’t have to go through moral issue after moral issue whenever you want something for Thomas, Roman.”

This has him snap his head up, pulling his hand from Patton’s grasp. “But so many things could go wrong, what if—”

“Alright, first of all, brownie.” Patton stops the sporadic hand movements Roman’s doing and places the sweet on one of his palms. “Two, let’s say that going through this would be an issue, you’re still acting as if we wouldn’t be here with you every step of the way.”

While Roman’s absentmindedly gawking at the brownie, Patton rubs his chin in an attempt to figure out a plan. There has to be a way to get through to Roman… he’s just not sure what sort of picture he should be painting.

_Wait, picture… that’s it!_

He slams his hands on the table, startling Roman from the daze he was in. “Let me put it this way,” Patton declares, “you’re like the steering wheel of this here operation and the rest of us would be the other parts helping you to your final destination!” His chest puffs out and his smile refuses to leave his person as he ends his statement.

Narrowing his eyes, Roman hums and takes a bite out of the brownie. “Patton, buddy, I don’t know how to say this… but you do know I’m not a good driver, right?”

The expression on Patton remains as is despite the skepticism, quite confident in the analogy’s ability to impress Roman. He doesn’t think he can guide Thomas on his own? Well, no problem there: that’s what the other sides are here for! “I can be the gas pedal, letting ya run wild whenever you think you can’t go all-out.”

Now, Roman’s still doubtful about the things Patton’s been spewing out, but he can’t say he isn’t a bit intrigued with the image his friend’s illustrating. “You do humour me more than anyone.” Munching on his brownie once more, Roman is sure that Patton’s doing this on purpose—oh and now he’s shimmying his shoulders, yeah, he knows what he’s doing. Visualization is basically Roman’s thing; of course he wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to indulge in it.

“Curse you and your surprisingly wily ways, Pat,” Roman concedes, sporting a grin that matches Patton’s toothy one.

They both lean back on their chairs. Roman’s most likely going through each side and assigning them a part already, but Patton’s focused on one in particular. Once he has a vague idea for them, he speaks up, “Virgil could be—”

“The brakes. The emergency one, especially.” Roman finishes up the brownie as he says this. A distant thought pops up in his head about wanting tea, but he shoves it down.

While it is true that Virgil tends to stop them whenever they go off the rails, or even when they aren’t, having him as the brakes doesn’t really encompass his role fully. He could let things run their course sometimes: when tension is at an all-time high, Virgil lets loose far more times than they’d imagine honestly. Or at least that’s what Patton suggests.

After thinking it over, Roman acknowledges Patton’s proposal, although he finds a fault in him only getting _one_ car part while Virgil gets to have two. “I’ll agree to this only if you approve of being the brakes as well,” Roman smirks, believing that he’s managed to make a connection between the two sides. They have their personality differences, but Patton can put an end to any nonsense the rest come up with just as well as Virgil can. A dynamic duo, those two are.

Unknown to Roman, his words ruffle Patton a bit. A lopsided smile graces his features as a result.

“Ooh, Logan’s definitely the turn signal!” Roman folds his arms and nods to himself. It totally fits Logan since he’s always there to guide him in, what he deems to be, the right direction—although Roman could never admit that to him. In spite of Roman’s pride swelling up, Patton isn’t exactly on board with the suggestion.

“Kiddo, the turn’s signal’s there to let everyone else know where you’re going, not to actually put you in that direction…” His nose crinkles as he stares at Roman. It causes the prince to stammer. To try and avoid the awkwardness, he then straightens his back and coughs.

“Well yeah… I knew that, of course!” he exclaims. His eyes shift back and forth, in search of the information in his head; not quite sure if he’s actually aware of it or if he’s subconsciously lying.

Thankfully, he’s spared an extra minute of embarrassment when Patton brings up a different example. “How about the CPS?”

“… you mean the GPS?”

“Yeah! Wouldn’t that work for Logan?” Patton starts off excited, but then a concern is pops up. With a low voice, he asks, “Does every car have one now?” since he’s not certain if it counts.

Shaking his head, Roman answers negatively. It isn’t the end for their GPS-Logan concept, however, as a whoop comes out of Roman. “But Thomas is the most valuable vehicle there is!” Taking one more brownie and holding it up to the ceiling, he watches as Patton hollers after him.

Roman giggles at their sudden enthusiasm. Of course Thomas deserves the absolute world, there’s never a question about that. He chews the treat in his hand, humming away. It’s not like he forgot the reason he came to Patton in the first place, but there’s a newfound adrenaline within Roman—as if he could take on the world! Truly, nothing could ruin his mood now.

“Hey, what would Remus be?”

“The backup tires in the trunk,” Roman states bluntly. He then places the brownie back on its plate, having lost his appetite already.

“Now, Roman. I know he _tires_ you out—”

“I drove myself right into that one.”

“—and you two do _duke_ it out every now and then,”

“Oh, a triple whammy,” Roman claps. Although the wordplay isn’t the most original, he has to hand it to Patton for following up his line. The aforementioned side does a small bow in his seat, but his main objective stays firm in his mind. Roman should give his brother more credit; he did help out with the story and all. Logan moderates their meetings, sure, but it should still count as a positive for Remus.

Belting out his most dramatic sigh, Roman yields. “I guess he does make me see scenarios in angles I haven’t tried before”—he lowers his voice to a mumble—“not that that’s always a good thing.”

Patton chooses to ignore that last bit and takes the win. “Well, there we go! Sounds like grade A mirror material to me.”

He doesn’t press Remus’s assignment any further, seeing that Roman doesn’t have the energy he did when they began. His consideration, while appreciated, does nothing to change Roman’s declining mood. All the names on the list have been crossed off but one, and discussing anything regarding the last side is just going to dampen his mood further. “Don’t bother with this one, padre. I doubt he’d help me in any situation.”

It is, by no means, a secret that the two of them aren’t each other’s biggest fans. They’ve been going through a rough patch for too long, if Patton were to be completely blunt. What Roman doesn’t wish to understand, though, is that the other side does mean well. Patton’s seen it firsthand multiple times. So Roman can scoff all he wants at Patton’s attempts in their reconciliation, but he won’t stop bringing it up.

“I will admit that Janus isn’t the most… dependable side”—Roman rolls his eyes at that—“but he’s there when it counts. If you’re ever in a pinch, well, I don’t doubt him trying to help you out.”

Roman listens. Contrary to what most of them believe, Roman always listens. It’s just that he’d prefer not to when it comes to Janus. Even so, Patton’s words still sink in. They haven’t had any major clashes after the callback-wedding fiasco, so he allows himself to consider Patton’s views. If only for a bit.

His choice of words, though, leaves Roman thinking. Several car parts go through his head, but he can’t figure out which one Patton was hinting at. Unless…

“Oh, no, you’re not suggesting—”

“He has to be the airbag!” Patton says cheerfully.

Great, they’re leaving his project in the hands of a snake now.

Rejecting the notion of Janus helping him at all, let alone in an emergency, is most definitely a Roman thing to do. And yet, he doesn’t do that. Instead, he tucks that information in the back of his mind. He’s long since forgiven Patton for all the mess that occurred—and even if he didn’t, his trust for Patton is hard to break. Which is why when Patton mentions something even remotely for his benefit, Roman listens.

That being said, he could never admit to that since it relates to Janus. And so, with a smirk, he takes an opportunity he was presented with. “But he’d make a very handsome car mat.”

“ _Roman!_ ” While Patton does give him an incredulous look, he laughs along with him.

When it slowly dies out, their faces stay the brightest they’ve been today. He’s glad that Roman’s feeling better. Even if it takes some time for him to not carry his burdens alone, at least Patton’s made sure that Roman knows he’s here for him—whenever he needs him.

Reaffirming some things to Roman couldn’t hurt, though, so Patton lays his hand on top of Roman’s. Gazing at the huddle, he whispers, “You can want something for Thomas, Roman. You’re more than allowed to.” He then focuses his sight back to the prince, meeting his widened eyes. “Without worrying about the consequences.”

Flustered, Roman stammers but manages to mutter his thanks to the other. “Don’t mention it. And I’m _tank-full_ you could talk to me about this.” Patton adds with a wink.

Roman shakes his head. Knowing Patton, he’s been saving that one for the past few minutes. It feels like the beginning of an onslaught of car puns and Roman would not have it any other way.

Propping an elbow on the table, he has his cheek rest on his hand. “Your turn, Peppermint Patton.”

Patton responds with a head tilt. His turn?

Oh, that’s right. They have meetings to discuss _each other’s_ problems, not just Roman’s. The difficulty in exposing his less than stellar emotions to the others hasn’t lessened one bit for Patton, so suffice to say… a panic surges through him. “Well, no need for that. I’m right as rain!” Reaching out for his second brownie of the day, Patton gets a good chomp on it before hurrying to his mug. He has his lips on it, but soon realizes there’s nothing there to consume.

“I forgot the tea…” He hadn’t realized how spaced out he was. Most likely to avoid confrontation, Patton stands up to fix up some actual tea for them. As soon as he moves, however, he’s immediately pushed back down. How hadn’t he noticed Roman getting up?

“I’ll make us some right now and we can discuss other matters if you’re uncomfortable.” Without waiting for approval, Roman makes himself at home in the kitchen, turning on the kettle. As far as he’s concerned, the two of them have all day to talk about things. If Patton’s feeling a bit distressed, well then Roman has to fix that now, doesn’t he?

While he waits for the water to boil, Roman leans on the countertop. He sees Patton’s downcast eyes and, of course, takes it upon himself to handle the situation. “You know, something I’ve realized is that while we have our roles for Thomas, we also have our duties towards each other.” The way he says this, the way he holds himself together—he’s acting as if he hasn’t bestowed a wisdom upon Patton, like it’s a fact they should’ve all been aware of already.

The kettle’s click beckons Roman to it, but before he accomplishes anything in the kitchen, Patton calls out to him. He pauses right after, thinking through what he should say. Anything to show that he’s fine, to show he’s grateful for Roman’s understanding.

When Roman raises an eyebrow and questions him, Patton blurts out, “J-Just don’t put too much sugar! A spoonful would be more than enough.” A nervous laugh follows; he holds onto the hope that his setup is recognized.

“You got it, _Pop_ pins.” When they both bring out their finger guns, a comforting realization reaches Patton: he can say with 100% certainty that Roman’s alright, more so than he’s been in a long time probably.

*******

“Let me see if I have this right: Logan can’t act, Virgil doesn’t have the energy to and Patton—bless his heart, as you said—wouldn’t take it seriously?” Out of the far corners of Thomas’s mind, the Mind Palace theatre is the last place Janus thought he’d return to, let alone with Roman as his only company.

It hasn’t changed much since his last visit: the only difference is the brighter stage lights, shimmering golden rays on the prince’s profile. Janus only notices this because he literally has a front row seat to this “once in a lifetime spectacle that will surely razzle your dazzle”, as Roman put it.

When Janus agreed to being dragged to this drab theatre, he wasn’t counting on participating in any of the shenanigans that’re about to occur. Out of the bunch, Janus has a fairly good grasp on Roman. He wears his emotions on his sleeve, he’s vocal about disagreements, he only holds his tongue when there’s no point in arguing—everything about his mannerisms and interactions with the others are more than clear to Janus. He should’ve known better than to get cocky about that, though, because Roman asking him—of all sides—to act is not something he expected.

“And Thomas? Weren’t you _dying_ for another chance to act alongside him?” There’s no reason for him to look up at Roman; he can perfectly picture the gears turning in his head. All Janus bothers to do is splay a gloved hand over the script on his lap. Really, this is just asking too much of him.

Before he entertains the thought of reading through the papers, Roman decides to respond. “You and I both know he’s too busy for that right now.” The exasperation in his tone has Janus glance up. Tapping his feet, Roman cards a hand through his hair and groans at Janus’s reminder. The latter can’t help a familiar smirk from greeting him.

Of course he knows about Thomas’s schedule; he just wanted to poke a bit at Roman. It seems as if one more jab would have him leave Janus be and that’s exactly what Janus is banking on.

He goes for a low blow, the surefire way of aggravating Roman: his brother. Claiming that Remus shares his interest in theatrics and the like, Janus weaves excuses about how there’s no other person the prince could perform with. As anticipated, Roman huffs at the words. “Contrary to your incorrect belief, ana- _Kaa_ -nda, Remus doesn’t care for theatre all that much. He’d sooner burn the stage than act with me.” Roman retaliates with as much as malice as he can muster. Janus can practically feel the venom thrown at him.

His arms are crossed, his foot keeps fidgeting—Roman is out of his element here. He might as well hold up a sign that says “No Januses allowed”. If he stays in this condition for any longer, the frustration Janus is hoping for will start to bubble up.

Good, it’s precisely how Janus needs the situation to be. No more than two or so minutes and Roman should escort him unceremoniously out of the theatre. That way he’d still have the upper hand while Roman remains as predictable as he’s always been.

Once Janus’s eyes land back on the stage, they meet Roman’s. The fury they were emitting, not even ten seconds ago, is replaced with an intense indifference. They stare back at Janus, acknowledging his existence, waiting and nothing more. This has Janus falter, squirming in his seat at the discomfort of miscalculating. He clicks his tongue, the realization of continuing the conversation finally hitting him.

“Oh, so you’ve come to me as the only viable option?”

“Thought that was pretty clear from the get-go, Sir Hiss.”

“Your approach definitely makes me want to help you.”

“Think of it as helping Thomas!”

If it weren’t for his new strategy, Janus would’ve scoffed at that. So now being a helpful side meant running lines? Honestly, it’s as if Roman brought him here just to mess with him. Although, at this point, Janus doesn’t remove that as a possibility.

Beats of irritation pulsate within him, but he considers himself a rather patient person, given that a lot of his time is spent with Remus. He’ll hold onto his frustration with Roman and flash a smile, scanning the highlighted lines on his lap with a finger in the meanwhile. “Oh but what would the greatest actor of this generation want with my help?”

He’s aware that he’s laying it on thick here, but subtlety isn’t a factor to this tactic. All he has to do is butter Roman up and he’ll turn into a bashful mess—boom, balance restored and Janus can slither out of this place before any other surprises occur.

“Well, I am Florida’s best kept secret.” Roman boasts with a grin; its radiance only amplified by the spotlight he’s under.

Janus’s fingers still their tracing. That response… he shouldn’t have just _accepted_ the compliment. This isn’t how they work at all: normally, Janus would sweet-talk Roman whenever it’s beneficial to him and Roman would nervously dodge them, in turn, lowering his guard. The sincerity of the praise doesn’t matter because Roman never believes them anyway, so why is today the exception?

When Janus lifts his head, he finds himself stunned by other side yet again. Stepping closer to the edge of the stage, Roman points a finger at Janus. “But this is not the time for flattery, Smarmalade!” Janus is trying to understand what’s going on, he genuinely is, but none of the reactions Roman’s given are recognizable to him.

Unfamiliar territories are bothersome, even to someone as put-together as Janus believes himself to be. It infuriates him—this situation, his bruised pride, Roman, the darn script in his hands. He rubs the edge of a page between his fingers, humming. Unlike how he’s handling Roman, ripping some parts of the script is easy enough to do, but he opts out of that decision and chooses to toss it to a seat next to him instead. Better to focus his anger on a moving target.

“Practicing lines to ‘make sure they sound right’ isn’t a part of my job description,” Janus snaps, accentuating each letter with erratic hand movements. “I am in no way obligated to assist with this endeavour of yours.” Each passing word seems to put out his fumes as he starts to relax. Maybe he was in over his head when he accepted Roman’s proposal to be here, maybe expecting Roman to react as he always does was presumptuous of him.

“Then why haven’t you left yet?” Roman remains standing on the edge, but he holds a gentle smile for Janus. His eyes are glimmering—Janus blames it on the lights—and it’s like they’re calling out to him. The hope Roman has for Janus to stay is ridiculous; borderline disgusting, even. They haven’t concluded anything from their last proper interaction with each other: no apologies, no confrontations, nothing. So it’s only natural that Janus avoids looking at Roman, shifting his eyes between the script and the ground.

Roman doesn’t blame him for doing so. His smile’s withdrawn, a frown taking its place. “Listen, Janus”—said side perks up at the sound of his name—“I know asking anything from you is a bit much after what happened.” Scratching the back of his neck, Roman lowers his voice before continuing. “But I want this to work for Thomas.” This is an undeniable truth for all sides, even Janus, even when Roman remembers how he refused to believe that.

Before he can go down that rabbit hole, he shakes his head, refocusing his attention on current matters. “And you know how much of a perfectionist I can be!” An attitude shift occurs: Roman recovers his bright grin, donning his signature pose. This garners an eyeroll from Janus, who has yet to meet Roman’s gaze.

His concentration is on the lines his fingers keep tracing. He’s known about Roman’s massive project for a while now, but he hasn’t bothered himself to gather information. Sure, performing with Roman isn’t the most ideal scenario for Janus—he can hear the criticisms even now—but at least he’ll be able to gauge whether or not what Roman’s doing is worth it.

Deciding on pandering as his next game plan, in one fell swoop, Janus appears on stage to the audience’s right. Right away, Roman perks up and starts to gush about some scene’s details. It’s not like he’s doing it on purpose, but Janus tunes out the surge of excitement—the blabbering being too much to handle on his part.

His sight trails to the pages in his hand, the yellow highlights grabbing his attention. Janus figures that acting out the scene with conviction is the only way to get out of this quickly. If he half-asses it for even a second, he won’t hear the end of it from Roman.

A part of him doesn’t exactly want to go through with this, considering the line he’s about to deliver. There’s a clash between two characters, that much is clear, but the one he’s assigned should be pained and vulnerable in the scene. Janus doesn’t _do_ pained and vulnerable.

Even so, it shouldn’t be too difficult, seeing as he is a part of Thomas. That doesn’t stop his worrying from surfacing, though. “We better go back to not standing each other after today,” he mumbles, tipping his hat lower.

Something else that catches his eye is how the character has some sort of staff—he can use that to his advantage. With a hand in his capelet, Janus yanks and out comes his own cane. Its appearance is noted by Roman, affectively pausing his gush fest.

Taking the time to make sure his hat is still lowered, Janus soon twirls the cane between his fingers. He then straightens it, pointing its handle to Roman, who takes a step back at the whip of air it creates. With one more glance to his line, Janus has the pages clutched to his chest.

“Would you truly sever our bond for them?” he whispers. It’s the only way he thought of to show aching without revealing too much. If his grip on the cane starts tightening, he doesn’t notice: too busy with the discomfort of what he delivered.

Deafening silence fills the stage, the remnants of Janus’s echo fading as the seconds pass by. It’s getting to be a bit much for him, so he tilts his hat back up to see how Roman is going to respond. Surely he’ll have some feedback Janus isn’t interested in hearing but will reluctantly deal with—anything is better than the quiet that’s residing between them.

When Janus checks Roman, however, he doesn’t seem to have anything to say or add; in fact, he has a hand covering his mouth. That’s when Janus notes Roman’s shaking shoulders, his squinting eyes and—ohh, he’s laughing.

Flinching at the sound, Janus drops his arms. The chuckling’s too reminiscent of a moment he’d rather not recall now—or ever. Without much thought to what comes after, he throws away Roman’s script; there’s no use he could gain from it anymore. Since he’s more than certain on where he stands with the prince now, Janus doesn’t spare so much of a glance his way as he prepares to exit.

Just as he’s about to turn, a tug from his cane pulls him back: Roman’s holding onto its end. How did he get so close?

If anything were to add onto Janus’s frustration, Roman’s smile would definitely be on the top of that list. His grip on the staff tightens, jerking it away from Roman’s grasp. “Haven’t you had enough fun at my expense already?”

Janus’s hissing seems to have Roman falter. “Wait, no, hold on. Just—” He cuts himself off, holding up a finger before turning his back to the other. As he steps further and further away, Janus lets his scowl deepen.

The gall of Roman to whisk him out of the sanctity of his room just to make a fool out of him! Janus doesn’t think much of him now, but he believed that Roman had to have at least some tact. The fact that he just thwarted Janus’s escape proves otherwise, however. He would’ve continued berating Roman in his head, but something about his stance has Janus pause.

Roman takes a breath, moving his shoulders about in preparation for what he’s planned. A hand is spread across his chest as he extends his other arm—a pose that mirrors the one Janus was holding. He rotates to face the captivated side, his heels clicking as he does so. The movement and sound are so sudden that they cause Janus to take a step back, but his gaze doesn’t leave Roman.

The posture shouldn’t be any different than the theatrics Roman normally indulges in, but Janus can’t help feeling overwhelmed. So much of how he’s standing shouldn’t affect him, and yet it does. His level back, how a corner of his mouth is quirked up in a smirk, the way his hand’s curled as if he’s beckoning Janus to him… everything about it is so unlike Roman—or, more accurately, so unlike the Roman he thought he knew.

Quite frankly, he can’t recall a moment when Roman wasn’t feigning confidence. Whenever Janus had the displeasure of interacting with him and the others, there was this bitter feeling that accompanied Roman’s false faith in his abilities. So, with this current Roman, Janus is left astounded at how regal he looks, at how assured he is, at how much he reminds him of Thomas.

There was a time when Janus thought Roman wasn’t on par with most of them, specifically because of how his inputs haven’t been getting through to Thomas. To Janus, that automatically meant he was above Roman, but now? Well, now he still can’t see them being on equal footing. With a confidence as enormous as the one Roman’s flaunting, Thomas is surely the best he’s been in months—Janus can’t compete with that really.

When did Roman get so ahead of them?

“Old friend,” Roman calls, breaking Janus’s train of thought. The latter’s brows furrow at the intimate term Roman’s using; it doesn’t exactly fit their relationship with one another. He’s about to ask for an explanation when he recalls a question he asked a few minutes ago. _Would you truly sever our bond for them?_

He puts together that Roman’s continuing the scene he wanted them to do, acting as if nothing’s happened. Janus doesn’t have a clue how to respond to this, but there is some curiosity over Roman’s following line. With how exposed Janus’s character acted, he figures that Roman’s would be even more dramatic. A response that would fit the regal nature of his stance—maybe his character would apologize, or try to seek atonement. But doubt starts to seep in when a large grin covers Roman’s previous expression.

“I totally would, dude!”

When the whole dialogue registers, Janus erupts into laughter. Just… everything about Roman’s delivery is so ill-fitting, it basically forced him into cackling. “Point proven, you absolute terror,” Janus manages to sigh after a few more chuckles.

“So intimidated by my awesome acting chops that you had to laugh, Scaley Williams?” Roman approaches Janus, the grin never leaving his face.

“That is your worst one yet.”

“What, Paramore not up to your standards?”

“Do be careful with your assumptions, Roman, or I might end up feeling sorry for you.”

“You wouldn’t—ohh, I see what you did there. Well done.”

“I do try. Now, can we get on with this frivolous exercise of yours?”

*******

There are days when Roman can’t find it within himself to write, or to sketch, or to plan anything really. Those are days when his hands don’t bother cooperating with him or when he won’t cooperate with them. It isn’t due to motivation issues nor does it have to do with some busy schedule Thomas and Logan have conducted. Truthfully, he doesn’t mind when those times occur and he doesn’t need a reason to excuse his inactivity.

Whenever the feeling hits him, how he’d rather do anything other than work on the story, Roman indulges in it. Years ago—heck, maybe even a single year ago—he would’ve felt nothing but contempt for the situation, for the lack of drive his hands felt. Right now, though, he welcomes those days as if they were any other, simply because he realizes that where his hands fail, his mind succeeds.

The times he felt as if his creativity wasn’t enough don’t return to him. He now sees that merely thinking about the narrative and its characters is, in and of itself, enough. Dialogue shared between the characters flow in and out of his head almost every day—and the days where he does nothing for them are no exception.

Some part of him does soak in the guilt of stillness, but it doesn’t last nearly as long as it once did. If Thomas were to take years to finish this project, if he decides to leave it on hold for a while, it wouldn’t bother Roman. Not like it normally would, at least. It’s enough that those tales remain within him, even if the plans were to come to an end. After all, his creativity lies in thoughts and concepts as much as it does in his actions.

**Author's Note:**

> Me writing this fic was just my mind screaming "Romaaaan! I love you!!" in the voice of c! Thomas and "Go, Roman!!" in Patton's voice.
> 
> Also, here are some explanations for some Roman lines (+one of Janus's) bc his lines go over my head in canon, so I think adding explanations for the fic works too for folks who are like me! I'm sure most of y'all got them, but yee:
> 
> By the Star Dazzles of the Evans Twins: refers to the awards Sharpay and Ryan Evans get in High School Musical 2.
> 
> ignoremus: i just wanted to point out that this was not a typo and is very much intentional fnjfmfkf (also it was original ignoramus, but I read it with Remus's name while editing and I couldn't not put it, y'know)
> 
> I'm as sure as a lock: the word "sure" sounds like the beginning of Sherlock, so very dumb word play on my part fkhfjfkff
> 
> Stinky & the Brain: references the cartoon Pinky & the Brain! You could say that he says "stinky" to counter the "malodrous" line Logan said in the 12 days episode.
> 
> Paper Sours: refers to the line "paper flowers" from Evanescence's Imaginary, which is a song in Virgil's playlist. And "sours" because he's usually in sour mood.
> 
> He'd make a very handsome car mat: I don't know how many people know The Lion King to heart, but I got the line from it and it originally is "He'd make a very handsome throw rug". I changed the last bit to fit the scene and also bc it was too perfect for me to pass up and Roman would 100% take the chance to say it!
> 
> Peppermint Patton: I'm not sure of the origins of "Peppermint Patty", but that's what the line is referencing. I heard it was a candy flavour, but it's also a Peanuts character! I feel like it's just a famous thing people like calling back to (examples: Peppermint Butler from AT, Peppermint Larry from Flapjack). Also, mostly alliteration.
> 
> ana-Kaa-nda: Kaa is a sly snake from the Jungle Book, so sly+snake=Janus and I had to put it in the middle of another snake word bc why not, Roman's that extra.
> 
> Sir Hiss: refers to the character of the same name from Robin Hood.
> 
> I am Florida's best kept secret: I know the "best kept secret" is a phrase already, but I want everyone to know that Roman was referring to Sharpay's song "I'm New York's Best Kept Secret" from her HSM spinoff movie, Sharpay's Fabulous Adventure.
> 
> Smarmalade: to smarm is to act kind to someone for benefits, which is what Janus was doing. And smarm rhymes with the beginning of marmalade, so yeah.
> 
> Scaley Williams: refers to the lead vocalist of Paramore, Hayley Williams.
> 
> Do be careful with your assumptions, Roman, or I might end up feeling sorry for you: Janus, to show that he knows Paramore and to poke at Roman, adds two song titles to his sentence ("Careful" and "Feeling Sorry"). This is very much a stretch, but I liked it so I kept it and I apologize for any confusion, because I know only 3 Paramore songs and those two are not a part of that list.


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